Bushwhacked'
by eyrianone
Summary: 'It's just a brown coat – except that it really isn't – not to her.' Post Ep. 'Headhunters'.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: '**Bushwhacked'

**Author:** eyrianone

**Rating:** T

**Spoilers:** Post-Ep for 'Headhunters, so spoilers through.

**Summary:** 'It's just a brown coat – except that it really isn't – not to her.' Post Ep. 'Headhunters'.

**Disclaimer:** (From ViaLethe) – 'Words are mine. World ain't.'

**A/N: Firefly, Firefly how I love and miss you! And my fellow 'O (obsessive) C (Castle) D (disorder)' sufferers - enjoy.**

* * *

**bushwhack [ˈbʊʃˌwæk]_vb_**

**1.** _(tr)_ _US, Canadian, and Austral_ to ambush

**2.** _(intr)_ _US, Canadian, and Austral_ to cut or beat one's way through thick woods

**3.** _(intr)_ _US, Canadian, and Austral_ to range or move around in woods or the bush

**4.** (Military) _(intr)_ _US and Canadian_ to fight as a guerrilla in wild or uncivilized regions

* * *

Kate pulls herself away from the trial prep pretty late that night, with a guilty feeling still niggling at her in the pit of her stomach. The kind of feeling you get when you know you haven't behaved the way you really should – the kind of feeling that says you let yourself down. Sure - her 'partner' and right now she uses that term in inverted comma's - has been an ass lately, but Detective Slaughter could have really hurt him when he sucker-punched Castle in the gut earlier, and beyond throwing a vaguely catty remark over her shoulder at him – she didn't stop to check that he was okay at all.

She's sure he is – that he must be, because he's actually a lot tougher than he tends to act, but her lack of compassion towards him after that punch – well she just doesn't like it, no matter the current awkwardness of their relationship.

It bothers her. And she's tried telling herself he deserved everything he got for ditching her in that fashion – tagging along after another cop indeed (it irritates her no end how furious just the thought of it makes her) but the fact is he didn't deserve it. Not at all. And the calm and sensible voice in her head – the one that these days speaks to her in the tones of Dr. Burke – reminds her that she's only furious - because she's hurt by it. And she's only hurt by it because she knows something isn't right between the two of them – and somehow she understands that somewhere, somehow – this is her fault.

And she still can't figure out what she could have done.

She was so happy to see him when he brought her coffee. Was honestly, absolutely thrilled that he'd just stopped by. She's missed him far more than she's comfortable with, both his physical presence and his smile. But the moment when she realized he wasn't actually there for her – it hurt. It hurt so badly that she couldn't wait to get away from him. And that manifested into a 'faked' cold indifference and a cooling untouched coffee on her desk.

She couldn't drink it – not when it was only coffee. Just plain old coffee – and nothing _more._

She tossed it in the trash a few minutes after he left, and then instant fortifications began construction at once. And yet . . .

It has proven impossible to keep building up walls when she's finally gotten proficient in the art of taking them down. All she'd managed was enough to hide behind successfully for a while, and even newly reinforced - still her real feelings find her. Its hours later perhaps, but Kate's finally having to deal with how much it absolutely terrifies her that something could have happened to him – something seriously bad - in those brief hours when she _wasn't_ watching out for him.

She's insanely grateful for Ryan and Esposito right now. Insanely grateful that they kept the faith and stood guard over him for her - when she deliberately looked away.

Not that she looked away for long. But it took some prodding from her boys before she reacted as she knows she should have all along – at least in the end he knows she was there for him. That she was standing beside him. That she did act to protect him when it counts.

However she still hates how she left things tonight - dangling all messy and vaguely reproachful. It isn't going to help resolve 'whatever this is' that they're going through and then it suddenly occurs to her out of left field - dammit – wasn't Slaughter wearing Castle's jacket?

Kate pushes to her feet and piles all the paperwork together neatly.

She really likes that brown leather coat – on her partner – not on Slaughter – she really likes it – because Castle looks sort of – dangerous - in it.

Edgy. Sexy. And even though he'd still be sexy in pretty much anything – that jacket it's just so . . . Mmmm.

Of course Castle can easily afford to replace it, and lets face it the man has a lot of clothes, but still – as a peace offering – it could work. Kate reclaiming what Slaughter has taken that doesn't belong to him – she knows her partner would see the meaning behind it instantly – and she'll do anything right now to help repair what's broken between them. Because this constant niggling fear she's living with is like an itch she cannot scratch. And now there's something she can do.

She can go and get Castle's jacket back – along with maybe some other things that have been inappropriately disposed of lately.

But first priority - the jacket.

Castle's brown leather coat; just because it's her favorite.

And then maybe the rest of all that's missing will follow.

* * *

Slaughter left telling her she knew where to find him. Turns out she doesn't, but she has ways to track him down, because it takes very few well directed questions and she learns that the man has some seriously predictable habits. And getting slamming drunk at a cop bar in mid-town after he's closed every case is apparently one of them.

Beckett enters the somewhat dingy establishment warily, still trying to formulate a plan of attack – because she has many doubts that just asking Slaughter to return the coat will get her anywhere. But he's definitely the kind of man who'd agree to it if she offered to sleep with him. And if he thought she wanted it because she likes the way it looks on another man – then he's the type to refuse to ever part with it just to piss her off.

More reasons to dislike him. And Kate does, she really – really – does, and not just because his methods are so suspect; but because in her eyes he commits the biggest cardinal sin a cop can. He doesn't give a rat's ass about his partners – cares so little in fact that he's gotten them killed – and that makes him scum in Kate's book.

Pond scum who is so not keeping _anything_ of Castle's.

No way – in hell.

And with this thought Kate smiles – deadly – dangerous – seductive, because she's suddenly figured out exactly what she's going to do to get it back.

Kate finds him – thankfully still wearing the prize she's come to reclaim - drinking at the far end of the bar, and judging by the five empty shot glasses in front of him, Detective Slaughter is well on the way to being exactly where she wants him.

Slipping on to the bar stool next to him, Kate steps up on the ledge of it and then leans provocatively over the bar, deliberately allowing her top to ride up and expose the smooth pale skin at the base of spine. Her snug dark-wash jeans leaving absolutely nothing about the perfect curve of her ass to anyone's imagination, and as Kate attracts the bartender's attention she really hopes Slaughter is enjoying the show.

Because eyeing up her ass is as close as he'll ever be coming to it – but he certainly doesn't need to know that yet.

Kate gives her drink order in an overly breathy voice and waits for her fellow detective to register that she's there.

Doesn't take him long.

"I had a feeling you might decide to change your mind about me." Detective Slaughter leers at her as she sits back down.

His eyes travel slowly down her body, and then hover relentlessly over her breasts for a while as he drinks her fully in and Kate – she toys with him. She tosses her hair, she bites slowly on her lips and she half-smiles. Lets herself imagine that she's here with Castle instead – imagines how fun it would be to seduce _him_ – uses it to find some heat to fill her eyes with.

"You are one seriously hot piece of ass." Slaughter tells her.

He _is_ an ass. But Beckett swallows the revulsion crawling up her throat from the vicinity of her stomach _and_ the eye-roll that she was instinctively going to give him. Those are the wrong tools - instead she fakes a wide toothy-smile, looks at Slaughter from beneath her eyelashes and grabbing her shot of tequila from the bartender she fights against leaning away from him and instead she leans in.

"You're not bad yourself – Slaughter." She tells him (lies), before she slams her shot back and bangs on the bar for another.

Detective Slaughter looks amused. "I just knew I had you pegged right Detective, and I can always tell Beckett." He responds. "It's always the most straight-laced ones who secretly have a hankering for the bad boys. I'm guessing that's the real reason why you and 'Sherlock' have never hooked up. I mean he claimed its 'cause you were friends – but I know better Detective – he just ain't man enough for you. He just doesn't get you hot – or wet."

Oh Slaughter – she thinks. You could not be farther from the truth. And for a moment she has to fight it – how tempted she is to tell him that, to just shoot him down by telling him just how desperately she _does_ want Castle, but that's for later. Instead Kate's eyebrow climbs and she deliberately lets her smirk widen. She reaches for her second shot, and shrugs nonchalantly as if he's right. As if Castle's manly appeal is nothing.

"He of course seriously wants you. I confess I've read his Nikki Heat books – and the man sure does like to fantasize. You should throw him a pity-fuck honey – give him some real insight for his novels." Slaughter continues, clinking his shot glass against hers before he downs another.

She wants to punch him in the nose – jackass, but it won't get her anywhere. So instead she reaches out, and rests her hand – high up on his admittedly muscular thigh and slams back her second shot. Then she runs her fingers slowly down the column of her neck after she swallows it and beneath her fingers she can feel him tense. She hears him swallow loudly, and she lowers her head to risk looking at him. She's close enough to watch his pupils dilate with desire as she breathes out, her response feathering like a caress across his lips.

"You shouldn't say such mean things Ethan." She jokes. "He's sweet – my partner. And he's so very smart. But I'm not here to talk about him Detective Slaughter – I'm here to talk about you."

Slaughter grins. It's all predatory as it splits his face. And Kate can tell he wants her badly now, and as buzzed as he currently is this is going to be remarkably easy – and she's not the prey here – he is.

Time for the big guns – because she wants this over with and fast.

"When you left you offered me 'hot sex' Ethan . . . and there's just all these hot, wild . . . kinky . . . things I do like to do."

"Really . . . "He says, drawing it out. "So you wanna get out of here then Beckett?"

Kate giggles.

"I thought you'd never ask." She gushes.

Beckett slips off her bar stool and then she tosses a twenty from her pants pocket onto the worn wooden bar top, with an exaggerated sway she saunters away and waits for Slaughter to catch up.

He's on her tail in seconds. Crowding close enough that she can feel the heat pouring off of him and she fights back a shiver of disgust, pulling the image of Castle into her head instead. She imagines him in a bright blue shirt, dark jeans, sleeves rolled up and forearms bare. All charm and irresistible boyishness, with love for her shining in his bright blue gaze – desire. It fortifies her.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews my dear fellow Castle addicts – forgive me for not responding individually to you all – I hope you don't mind. You can thank my dearest 'Purplangel' who begged me to extend this to at least 'four' chapters. I don't know that I have more than three – and this is shorter now than originally intended so that the story plays out a bit longer, but I can never resist her, so there will now be more of this to come!**

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**Chapter Two:**

* * *

There's an alley next door to Slaughter's chosen sleazy cop bar – isn't there always in Manhattan. Beckett hates alleys. Hates them. She doesn't let the reason why even enter her mind though – and with a long struggled for mastery the thought sparks and she immediately shuts it down. She has too, because she has to deal with bodies in alleys all of the time and she'd be completely paralyzed if she couldn't.

Still there's an alley – and it's convenient if nothing else. She'll take convenient. She'll take and she'll use it. Let Detective Slaughter assume this is what she meant by 'kinky'. Let him think that she just can't wait to get into his pants – can't wait to get her hot, desperate little hands all over him. And his broad, rough, strong ones all over her in return.

She can of course. She doesn't want _any_ part of him anywhere near her in reality, but this is for Castle (she reminds herself sternly) and for Castle - Kate's accepted now that she can and will do almost anything.

So she heads directly into the alley, and Slaughter's voice comes from behind her when he says,

"Where you going Beckett? Let's just go back to my place, s'not far and I can hail us a cab."

Beckett shakes her head, continues to walk away until she's far enough into the alley for her plan to work, because she needs a clear spot of wall and nothing in the way of her feet – and then she spins around; beckons him with a crook of her index finger and a sly naughty smile creeping slowly across the planes of her beautiful face.

She takes a calming breath, centers herself and tells him,

"Don't tell me you really wanna wait Ethan . . . I might change my mind and then where would you be? All hot and hard and aching for me . . . don't you really want me right _now_?"

She swears she can see his jaw drop from here. He swallows heavily and then she sees him scan the skivvy alley slowly, only a mild hint of disgust in his pale eyes.

"Seriously . . . here?" He asks, the low register of his voice noticeably even lower than normal.

Kate beckons him again. It's dark in the alley, but an overhead window casts just the right amount of ambient light across her face for him to read her features clearly. She paints them with lust; she has to drag out every perfect picture memory of Castle that she has to accomplish it – but she does it. The look in her green eyes becomes molten, wanton, until she looks positively sex-starved and its way more than Slaughter can resist. He laughs, a coarse and crude sound that bounces off the brickwork around them.

"Beckett . . . you are a hellcat." He murmurs appreciatively.

He advances on her then, all brash over confidence and pumped up ego.

_Atta boy, you just go right on thinking I'm so hot for you that I need you now; hard and fast and up against the wall._

Kate shivers just for a moment at that thought. Because Slaughter is not the man in her mind, and the mental images suddenly cascading through her brain - of Castle taking her in just that way - is doing insane things to her insides. Real want hits her out of nowhere and she has to concentrate fully to push it aside – there'll be a later for that . . . there will, she makes that promise to herself.

They'll be a later (hopefully soon) where there's time for everything that should exist between them, she won't rest now until that's so.

That's a big part of what getting this coat back is all about; staking her claim over him and making him understand that she is. That he's hers – in all the ways.

Slaughter stops barely an arms length from her, he reaches out and cups her elbow in a firm grasp, tries to pull her against his chest and into his arms, but Kate is too fast for him. She twists at the last second, and uses her momentum to spin him about until she can push him backwards, only the tips her fingers against the wall of his torso. She walks him back, step by step until his back finally hits the alley wall.

"Easy hunnie." He leans down to whisper in her ear, the alcohol on his breath forcing her to want to hold her nose.

Kate plasters a pout on her face, tips her face up to his, leans in as if to kiss him but pulls up short, barely millimeters away.

"Don't want to go easy on you tough guy. I want it rough, dirty . . . and take that damn jacket off Ethan – you're reminding me of him."

Slaughter looks momentarily confused and then he smirks.

"See I told you Beckett – not enough man for you."

Kate forces herself to grin back, "I'm not the one in the girly leather coat Detective – don't you know you'd look so much hotter in it if that thing was black?"

Slaughter shrugs.

"I like it – but if it bothers you we can't have that now can we? He tells her.

Kate shakes her head. She pushes at the brown leather as if she's impatient, and he's so eager to oblige her now, so desperate to get in her pants that he shrugs out of it, lets it fall off his shoulders as she tugs it free of his arms. Once it's off him and safely in her hands, Kate beams at him and then in a move he would never see coming – even if he was stone-cold sober, she drops into a slight crouch and kicks her right leg out to sweep his out from under him.

He drops like the proverbial stone. All two hundred plus pounds of him hit the concrete of the alley on his tail bone and he yelps in pain as his head also hits the wall behind him to boot.

Kate's fifteen feet from him, Castle's brown coat securely in her hands before he can blink.

"Hey." Slaughter yells at her. He rubs at the sore spot on the back of his skull and winces as he tries to get his feet under him again. "What the hell was that for you bitch?"

Beckett continues to move away from him, at the end of the alley she turns, just before she hits the relative safety of the street.

He's still struggling to his feet, but he's just managing to get himself upright again.

"Payback." She calls to him. "For taking unfair advantage of what wasn't yours, and for daring to lay a hand on _my_ partner Detective Slaughter. Now if you know what's good for you - you'll stay away from Richard Castle . . . or you'll answer to me."

She goes to leave but he calls out to her again.

"Witch." He yells impotently after her.

Kate turns back a final time and smiles, holds up Castle's coat and makes an exaggerated show of slipping it on over her own. 'Yeah but I'm _his_ witch Ethan – and don't you ever forget it."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three:**

* * *

Kate wakes up early and wonders how wrong is it that she took his leather jacket to bed with her last night? It's weird right? But the thing is, despite Detective Slaughter having had custody of the coat for a few days – it still smells like Castle. It's his expensive cologne that lingers on the soft brown cow hide – that insanely comforting smell that she can never get enough of – especially lately when he's so deliberately been keeping his distance.

She slept like a baby last night – the first time in weeks that she's really gotten a full night's uninterrupted rest. And she knows without dwelling on it that this fact says a lot about her state of mind – and the effect just the illusion of him being there has on her psyche.

Beckett sighs heavily and snuggles the jacket closer to her as tears prick the back of her eyes (something that's happening with scary regularity these days.) She's being sentimental and foolish, she knows she is – but she can't quite seem to shake herself out of it. No the only thing that's going to accomplish that is getting their partnership back on its previous footing – no – preferably better than their previous footing. It's _their_ time now – its here – and she's certain she's ready.

The cop pushes back the bed covers and hops out of bed, laying the brown coat gently on the chair in the corner of the room before she heads for the shower. When she re-emerges twenty minutes later the sight of it momentarily has her heart skipping beats and her face cracking into a rare wry smile. _Silly girl_. But it sure does look good lying there – like he just left it behind after a night of passion, and she shakes her head at her own fancifulness as she finishes getting ready for work.

Castle's brown coat is of course coming with her.

At the precinct she's tempted for a moment to simply hang it on the back of 'his' chair, and leave it waiting for him – and the next time he shows up. But then somehow that feels wrong – like it's an afterthought instead of a gesture – so she hangs it on the back of her own chair instead and then grabbing the bull by the horns she sends him a text message. They don't actually have a case – but there's no more denying that he needs to be here.

'_Can you stop by the 12th today? I have something for you – please Rick.'_

She hits send, hopes it doesn't sound like she's desperate (she is) and then she swallows back a sudden raging bout of nerves, forces herself to walk away from her phone and give him some time to respond to her while she goes to get coffee.

* * *

The writer is having coffee himself – along with a cream cheese bagel for breakfast when his phone goes off. He pulls it from his pants pocket and stares at the screen as he chews.

The message is from Beckett and the author sighs heavily. Figures – he hasn't been able to put her out of his mind for a moment since he left the Twelfth yesterday and sometimes the weird parallels between his life away from the precinct and his life inside it blow even his writer's imagination away.

Despite two bowls of ice-cream and a talk that lasted hours - Alexis still hasn't come to a conclusion about what she wants to do about Stanford. And he's sitting here in his kitchen this morning facing a similar dilemma. He can't decide what to do about Beckett either, because 'getting over' being this hurt by her isn't as easy as it sounds and there is a disturbingly large part of him that petulantly doesn't want to even try.

And it's not like him.

Because the writer loves a challenge – he loves to beat the odds. He is not a quitter (two failed marriages aside, and God knows how hard he tried to save those) he knows he's never been the type to give up easily. He would not be what he is or where he is if he was.

And yet despite this, the same question he posed to Alexis – how badly do you want it? Remains.

Castle glances down at his partners' message again and he's struck suddenly by her choice of phrasing. His fertile mind automatically reading into the few short words she sent him, seeing the subtext, ascribing a meaning.

'_Can you?'_ She's asked. Not 'will you' or simply 'stop by', but _'can you?'_ 'Can you' - as if, for once – Kate Beckett's actually uncertain of where she really stands with him. And then there's the sign off – '_Please, Rick'_ both a plea and the usage of his given name, and that's something Castle can count happening on the fingers of just one hand.

_Please, Rick._

Damn it.

It gets to him. It reaches right inside his chest and squeezes his bruised heart tightly in an iron fist. _Please, Rick . . . please._

Closing his eyes the author sighs heavily again. This angst he's been putting himself through is so pointless.

The truth is - he's already given up on wishing that he didn't love her. He does, he has for so long that he can no longer even remember the moment when he started – it's just a part of him. It's just like it's always been there – always will be there. Always – just like he's told her.

And here's the real kicker - he still wants it even now. He still wants her – so badly. So badly that he already knows he will dutifully go today – to the precinct, as she's asked him too. So badly, that he realizes he's been agonizing about nothing really, because there is no choice to be made here. He chose a very long time ago to try for Kate Beckett's love – and if he's failed in that – if he can only ever be the partner she relies on – the friend she needs – then he still wants that too, and badly enough to get over the fact that she's broken his heart.

He types a reply into his phone.

'_Sure can. I'll stop by in an hour or so – coffee?'_

A peace offering he thinks. He needs a peace offering – something that tells her before he sees her again that he wants things to go back to normal between them. Normal isn't enough, but it's far better than the alternative has been.

* * *

Back at the precinct her phone goes off with her partner's response just as Beckett returns to her desk. She scans the text anxiously and finds herself smiling in relief – he's coming! He'll be here soon in fact.

She eyes the coffee she's just made and decides to wait on the one he's offering to bring her – just the thought of seeing him already making her truly happy.

She sends him a response.

'_I'd love some – see you soon.'_

And then she walks back to the break room to pour the crap she just brewed down the sink – because she can face it, Castle's coffee is just plain better. Then she heads once more for her desk and as she sits she finds herself slowly brushing her hand against the soft leather of his coat where it hangs down the rear of her chair. There is some paperwork she should really catch up on but the jacket distracts her and instead she spends the minutes planning what she'll say when she returns it to him today. She does not (she totally does) let herself also get distracted by remembering the way it's filled out by his broad shoulders and the way it brings out an almost royal blue tone in his eyes.

God she's pathetic. But she's so looking forward to giving this jacket back to him now . . . in fact she can hardly wait.

* * *

Castle grabs their usual order from their usual place and feels something settling inside of him as he does so. A certain sense of rightness, of peace - both in the pit of his stomach and somewhere in the vicinity of his heart too. The beginnings of healing and the stirrings of hope - if he had to label it, and as he takes a slip of his coffee he finds himself truly surprised by the latter. He didn't think he had any 'hope' left not of this kind, not when it comes to anything more than getting over the broken heart and going back to being happy as her friend – and yet it's there. If it was gone and he thinks it genuinely had disappeared there for a time – and suddenly now this morning its seeping back, infusing him from the inside out - then that's all because she's requested his presence.

God he's pathetic. He's reading way too much into this - but he still can't wait to see her.

He finds her sitting at her desk and doing something very 'un-Kate' like. She's daydreaming, sitting there and staring off into space with the end of a pencil in her mouth. Lucky, _lucky_ pencil. He swallows back a faintly dirty comment and instead sets her coffee cup down in front of her and waits for her to see it.

Studying her familiar, beautiful face the warmth he was feeling before colors him still further. Kate looks amazing today – more amazing than is usual he thinks. There's just something about the small smile flitting around her mouth and the way when she sees the coffee she immediately looks up – her eyes instantly seeking his. There is a strange and wonderful sparkle in their depths that's completely directed at him, like he's hung the moon or saved the world or something and though he cannot think of anything to account for it – he knows his whole face lights up beneath it anyhow.

"Hey Castle." Her greeting is all breathy and delighted.

In response he knows his smile widens further, his reply kinda shy.

"Good morning Beckett."

The detective grabs for her coffee cup and downs a thankful swallow of perfect skinny vanilla latte in his favorite fashion – the two-handed tilt-back – he calls it - and that's when he notices it – his brown leather coat on the rear of her chair.

The one he handed over to Detective Ethan Slaughter.

And Castle can't help it – his smile and his mood immediately fade – because what on God's green earth is Kate doing with it?


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I made it four for you Purplangel:) Reviews are love.  
**

* * *

Chapter Four:

* * *

One minute she's feeling so great seeing him suddenly standing there – so happy. Because God – he's so handsome and she's missed him so much lately and she's so ready to just . . . wait . . . what on earth is wrong now?

Castle was looking at her only seconds ago with a sweet shy smile and a faintly amused glint dancing in his eyes – probably laughing inwardly at just how fast she grabbed for her coffee - and things were looking all rosy – sort of – and she was just bursting to tell him - everything. But then the smile actually fell off his face and the twinkle in his eyes faded and bam! Shutters up over his emotions and it's like he's disappeared again.

_Where does he keep going? Why?_

She's so tired of him disappearing – she's exhausted from the strain of it – because she's been far too scared (too cowardly) to really go and _look_ for him. Too terrified of what she might find if she found him.

She just needs him back; she can't go on without him back again now.

The jacket is her proof of that. It's what she's trying to tell him with it.

Beckett can feel herself panicking – can feel her heart rate climbing and her respiration's soaring and – seriously Castle – then the detective follows his line of sight . . . .over her shoulder to his brown leather jacket hanging waiting for him on the back of her chair.

And then it hits her.

_Oh come on – seriously Castle you can't possibly be thinking . . . ?_

But he is. She just knows he is.

And boy does it ever royally piss her off.

How _dare_ he – jackass!

And it's right then that the weird feeling of utter relief hits her sideways.

Oh – this means . . . this is actually somewhat good. At least this reaction is a tangible proof that he still cares. And if he still cares for her there is real hope that they can fix 'this', whatever 'this' is.

But it still stings. Hurts her that he could imagine, even for a moment (however fleeting) that she would – that she could - with _Slaughter. _Urghhh.

Well if she hadn't already, she's now 'officially' had enough. Beckett puts her coffee cup reluctantly on her desk and pushes her chair back as she stands. Keeping her eyes fixed on her wayward partner, who's now scowling faintly and staring past her at the wall, she reaches behind her, grasps hold of the brown coat and with it firmly held in one hand she grabs Castle's ear with the other and drags him to the break-room under protest.

"Ow. What the hell Beckett – let go of me." He yells at her.

Nothing doing.

The cop pushes him into the room, follows him in, and slams the door behind her before she flicks the lock.

"Stay there." She warns him. The 'do-not-even-think-about-messing-with-me' look in her eyes apparently still enough to keep him in one place for long enough for her to cross over the room to the other exit, and slam that door shut too – another lock flip. Then Kate closes the blinds for good measure before she whirls on her partner and pins him with a gaze.

"Sit down Castle." She instructs him.

He remains standing.

"What the hell is wrong with you Beckett?" He mutters petulantly, as he rubs at his reddening ear. "I came in because you asked nicely – I didn't come in for you to physically abuse me."

Kate swears he adds, 'the emotional abuse has been more than enough thank you' under his breath, but she can't be sure.

Frowning, she forces herself to calm down and try to get back to that wonderful glow she was experiencing when he arrived.

"I'm sorry." She begins gently.

His eyes flick to hers and his jaw tightens, but he remains mute for the moment.

"I'm really glad that you're here Rick." She speaks softly, hopes that the way she was feeling when she saw him comes across now in her voice.

She can see him fighting against something – but then his shoulders just slump and when he speaks he sounds tired now.

"Just give me what it is you dragged me in for and let me get out of here Beckett – I've got some things to do." He says.

Kate swallows. In her head that suddenly sounds like 'I've got some 'one' to do', looks like she's no better than he is apparently, and she forgives him for his jealous thoughts instantly.

She holds out the soft leather jacket, but he doesn't move to take it so she steps close and reaches for his hand. His skin is warm (as usual) and she determinedly laces their fingers together before she raises their joined arms and lays the jacket over them – holding it between them.

"This is yours I believe?" She tells him.

The writer looks befuddled, and when he nods it's vaguely cagey.

Kate waits for him to say something, to ask about why she has it but cat's got his tongue.

_Do the work Kate. _She tells herself. _Commit to him now – just do this already_.

The cop takes a deep breath, and hopes she can make him understand. "Slaughter doesn't deserve this Castle – he won't treat it properly."

Her partner's vivid blue eyes dart to hers and scan her face with laser-like precision, searching for hidden meaning in her words the way she always knew he would – because this is what they do.

He's silent for a long while, just studying her before he speaks.

"That doesn't explain why you have it Beckett?" He replies.

Her stomach is in knots – why is this always so hard? But she forces herself to smile, and if it's a little sad that's only because she's been a lot sad recently and she just needs that to stop now.

She wants to look him in the eyes and tell him this – tell him all of it – but she's staring at the floor when she speaks.

"I have it because I took it back from him – maybe forcefully – and I took it back because I like it where it's always been Castle. And I know I haven't always appreciated it the way it should have been appreciated – but you should know that I'm willing to do _anything_ to fix that. I love this brown coat Castle – and I wanted it back – where it truly belongs."

She hears a catch in his breath, feels the fingers she clinging onto tighten around hers suddenly – the strength of his grip startling her. The cop forces herself to drag her eyes from the floor and look him in his handsome face. Forces herself to scan that face for signs he understands where she's trying to steer them with this.

"I thought it looked better on Slaughter there – for a moment." He says, but there is a tilt - a slight upturning of his mouth that eases the fear in her heart.

Kate shakes her head vehemently.

"No way. Never. It belongs here. Next to me – on you Castle."

The small up-tilt to his lips increases.

"Is that so?" He says.

Kate nods.

"Always. I never want it to go anywhere again." She says, passion coloring every word.

Her partner sighs.

"Ah but maybe it needs more than what's here Beckett. Maybe it wants to be loved – not just needed. And it isn't loved – it's just liked . . . and I wish that was enough – but it's not, it's not anymore."

_Not loved? Oh God he's a million shades of wrong._

Kate takes her free hand and reaches for his beloved face, she cradles it in her palm, strokes her fingers over his jaw. He needs to believe her now – she prays he will.

"I don't know where you got that idea - but however you came to that conclusion I can assure you that you're wrong." She says.

He shakes his head.

"I got that idea directly from you Kate - you told me so yourself - you told me in your silence."

_Oh - so very much makes sense now. Withdrawal. Flight attendants. Replacement partners. Unhappiness. So past time to talk and set the record straight._

"It's loved." She says. "It's totally freaking adored in fact. It's needed and desired and it belongs here." She says, before she stretches up and slants her mouth over his, swallowing his surprise and replacing it with her tongue.

She kisses him softly for a moment, and then the strain of holding back, always holding back from him breaks within her, and her kiss turns fierce – possessive – needy.

Their joined hands break from one another as the brown coat falls to the floor forgotten, the writer wraps both arms around her tightly, gives her back as good as she's giving, and when they finally break apart gasping for air he's smiling at her.

Wide, and happy and he's her partner again – finally once more the man she loves. He rests his forehead on hers, his words whispered across her lips.

"I take it all of that was just a metaphor – and _I'm_ the jacket?" He teases.

His partner laughs.

"Yes of course you are. And FYI Castle - you need to keep that brown coat forever."


End file.
